Beneath The Kilt
by Tehri
Summary: Arthur and Alfred have been in a relationship for some time, and although their sex-life has always been incredible, there is one time that has stayed in Alfred's memory; who knew that a kilt could look that good on Arthur, of all people...


**Very random idea, but I hope you all will like it!**

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There were things in life that one should never count on, things that were almost a little bit taboo... Being in a relationship with England, of all people, had taught Alfred that. For one, he had learnt to never expect that Arthur's cooking could actually get better. He had also managed to teach himself that expecting the Englishman to treat him nicely just for no good reason was a bad idea. So getting mad when Arthur suddenly decided to smack the back of his head (again) was useless, because he _had_ deserved that one, and he knew it. Even _mentioning_ Arthur's crappy skills in cooking would land him in a very difficult situation where he didn't know whether to feel extremely distressed because his lover was about to cry, or whether to run like a madman through London with the angry man hot on his tail. And losing his temper during an argument and say that he'd leave Arthur for Kiku because the Japanese man was simply so much cooler _would_ make Arthur cry and feel extremely insecure, which would in turn result in an enormous guilt-trip and a slightly hysterical American who tried to make the older man feel better. The list could go on in eternity, but Alfred knew his absolute favourite on said list.

He should never have expected that not being allowed to have sex with anyone else than Arthur would be boring. Because it sure as hell wasn't; the old man knew how to keep things interesting, and the American could not quite remember when he had last enjoyed sex so much... True, the same body, but for some reason he just didn't get tired of seeing Arthur like that. Besides... seeing what Arthur had learnt during his relatively brief relationship with India was very interesting, not to mention arousing. And the cosplay. He had _never_ been in a relationship where the partner was willing to dress up. In fact, he had always been the one forced to do that... But Arthur seemed perfectly content with it. Of course, there were times when Alfred was a little bit freaked out by the whole thing... Such as the time (quite early on in their relationship) when Arthur had actually ambushed him in his own house while wearing his old pirate clothes, blindfolded him and tied him down to his bed and then proceeded to act like he had when he was a pirate. Despite the whole thing with the Englishman taking his lover's virginity like that, it had been both enough to freak Alfred out, and still more arousing than he could really remember. But there was one time when he had more or less lost control of himself, and he was well aware of that Arthur had saved that one for special occasions since it happened.

* * *

_(Eight months earlier)_

"Oi, England..."

Arthur turned his head a little to glance over his shoulder at the Scotsman who stood in the doorway and peered at him with a frown on his face.

"What is it, Angus," he asked pleasantly, allowing his eyes to return to the embroidery in his hands once he had made it clear that his brother was unarmed at the moment. "You don't usually just stand there."

With a quiet grunt, Angus moved into the room and eyed the embroidery.

"Ye should stop tha'," he grumbled. "Ye're no bloody woman, ye eejit. Unless ye want me t' make ye b'come one."

Arthur snorted disdainfully and glared at the significantly older man.

"There is nothing wrong with embroidery," he bit back. "It's relaxing."

"It's fer women," Angus replied sharply. "I dinnae remember raisin' ye t' be a bleedin' woman!"

"I will stop with this when you stop wearing skirts!"

"It's a fuckin' _KILT_!"

The Scotsman glared dangerously at the younger man, a strange smirk spreading on his lips.

"Ye're askin' fer it," he growled.

* * *

The nation who had the idea about next meeting being "casual" should be given a medal. A really big one. Alfred was not even able to express in words how happy he was about not having to wear a stuffy suit and it seemed that the others were just as happy about it. So for the next meeting, the American came dressed in an "I LOVE NY" t-shirt, a pair of jeans that only barely stayed up around his hips, and sneakers. His beloved bomber jacket was also there, as always. Humming happily to himself, he wandered over to his seat, glancing around in the room; almost everyone had arrived, but strangely enough, England was still absent. However, when it was about time to start, loud voices were heard outside the door. Mere moments later, said door opened, and England was pushed into the room by a laughing Ireland.

"Let me go, you bloody git!"

"Forget it! You pissed him off, now you have to deal with it!"

Alfred stared at the blonde older nation, who now quickly looked around in the room with the look of a hunted animal in his eyes. It wasn't the way he had arrived that caught the American's undivided attention though. It was what he was _wearing_. A loose white shirt with lacing, a pair of sturdy combat boots... And something that looked like a plaid skirt.

"Iggy," he said slowly, making the Englishman look at him. "Why are you wearing a skirt...?"

Arthur took a deep breath, seemingly counting to ten in his head, before answering.

"This is not a skirt," he muttered as he slowly began to walk to his seat. "It's a kilt. And I wear it because Scotland stole my clothes and forced me to wear this instead..."

Before Alfred could comment any further, France finally failed at shutting up and burst out laughing.

"_Mon dieu_, _Angleterre_," he shrieked. "What on _earth_ are you wearing? You look ridiculous!"

Arthur sent the Frenchman a glare and sat down, grumbling silently. And since the American was still too caught up with staring at his old mentor, Germany decided to take charge.

The first part of the meeting was lost in a haze in America's mind as he continued to watch England. While he did come with his own ideas every now and then, he was quieter than usual, preferring to keep his eyes on the green-eyed nation. But when the coffee break came around, he was suddenly back to his chatty self, and this little change was immediately noted by the self-proclaimed country of love.

"My, _Amérique_, you've been awfully quiet..." Francis grinned and tilted his head. "Can I assume that it is because of what our dear _Anglais_ is wearing today?"

For a split second, Alfred almost choked on his coffee, but then he glared at the Frenchman.

"Why the hell would I care about what Iggy's wearing," he asked. "It's not my problem."

For a moment, he glanced over at the Englishman who sat and chatted pleasantly with Kiku while sipping his tea. Of course Arthur wasn't attractive at the moment, no man would be. He was wearing a _skirt_, dammit! What, had he switched placed with Poland as the world's official crossdresser? ... Alright, maybe that was a little unfair, but the guy always wore skirts and loved pink. England didn't, but he was wearing a skirt right now... And it was a little bit weird. Because, to tell the truth, he looked rather good in it... But it wasn't as if Alfred would ever say that out loud! Never! That would be crossing every line to ever exist, as well as getting a one-way ticket to the Land of Pain, since Arthur would most likely be rather pissed off. He watched as Arthur got to his feet, politely excusing himself from the conversation before heading out from the room. The American bit his lip for a moment; to follow or not to follow... He _wanted_ to follow, he'd admit that, but people would take it wrong, wouldn't they? Especially France... So, for the safety of his reputation, he chose to stay put, even though all his instincts told him to run after the Englishman. He tried to participate in conversation, but he couldn't quite keep up, to tell the truth... He felt confused, and forming coherent sentences was getting difficult. And when they started again, he could only barely remember what he was supposed to say, and it was still difficult to answer any questions. He could literally _feel_ that France was smirking at him, and it was definitely not a pleasant experience. Not at all. But it was so hard to look away, so very hard to _not_ look at Arthur...

_I want him_, he thought. _Wait, no, I don't! I mean, he's wearing a fucking skirt, and... And he's... God, he's hot, sure, but not right now! Seriously, what the fuck?_

"You know, _Amérique_," Francis whispered to him from his left side, "according to Arthur's brother, real men do not wear anything beneath the kilt... That is something to remember, _non_?"

Alfred blinked, once, twice, three times... And struggled to hold back the blush that threatened to spread over his face. Not wearing anything beneath the... Oh sweet Jeebas, that sounded kind of hot. Like when a woman wore a very short skirt, but no panties. Only it was a man. And it sounded so incredibly hot when it came to England, for some reason... Almost as if on command, he felt his loose jeans get tighter, straining slightly over his groin. Damn. That would either create a problem, or give him something to work with. He looked at the older nation again, tilting his head just slightly... Oh, those gorgeous emerald eyes...

_What the fuck am I thinking_, he thought, blinking a few times before resuming his staring. _This isn't exactly the time for that! But... He does have nice eyes... and... It's not like he doesn't have a nice body..._

This. Was not. Working. Despite his own attempts at trying to think of something else, something that should have stopped what was currently happening, his body did not respond the way he thought that it would. Every little thought about the Englishman seemed to make his "problem" much worse. And the thought about the kilt did absolutely not help. Arthur suddenly shifted in his chair, seemingly crossing his legs... Okay, so maybe he was a little extra attractive right now. But only a little! He was still just a grumpy old man who had been forced to wear a damn skirt! B-but...

"America, are you listening to me, aru?"

He snapped back to reality immediately, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Better to not give anyone a reason to worry or anything... But at least now, a plan was forming in his head. He couldn't make this go away, so he would have to get rid of it in another way. Preferably with Arthur's help.

Once lunch finally came around, Alfred waited until everyone had left and Arthur was only just making his way to the door. In a moment, he was on his feet and rushed over, grabbing the older nation's wrist as he hurried out, ignoring the surprised protests from the poor man. He took a left in the corridor, due to that most of the others wandered off to the right. At the moment he didn't ask for much, he wasn't going to be picky. But an empty closet or a room with enough space to move in would be very nice right at this moment, because by _God_ and Jesus H. Christ on a fucking motorbike, he couldn't stand it! He needed to get rid of this now, or he was going to go mad!

"W-what are you doing", Arthur yelled at him, attempting to hit him. "Let go! America, listen to me! Let go of me! I won't put up with your ridiculous antics today; I just want to go to have something to eat now! Oi! Let go!"

Finally, Alfred found the much longed for closet. He pulled the door open, shoved the irate Brit inside and quickly followed, closing and locking the door behind him. Although it was hard to see something in there, he noticed that there was more than enough room to move. And he also noticed the emerald eyes that were glaring angrily at him.

"Are you going to explain yourself?" Arthur growled angrily at him. "Well? Out with it! Why the bloody hell did you drag me into a bloody _closet_?"

Alfred stared at him, his eyes raking over the lightly clad body; the lacing on the shirt had been loosened a little bit, exposing part of the man's chest, and with the way the Englishman was crouching slightly with his back against the wall, the kilt was riding up a little bit on his leg. With a slightly strangled noise, the American more or less threw himself at the smaller man, pressed him hard against the wall and kissed him eagerly. Arthur squirmed and yelped loudly, trying to shove his former colony away, but Alfred would not budge.

"Iggy," he whispered, his voice hoarse, as he planted kisses along Arthur's jaw and neck. "Arthur... Oh god, Arthur..."

A loud groan passed over his lips as he ground his hips against Arthur's, begging for some sort of friction. The Englishman's eyes widened, and he squirmed slightly to get away, but the only thing he succeeded with was to make the American groan again and kiss him deeply.

"Mh... America, g-get off...!" He turned his head a little, and Alfred immediately began to nibble at his earlobe. "Ah...! Don't...! Stop that!"

"It's your fault," Alfred gasped, pressing against the older man again. "You... you just had to piss off your brother and wear this, didn't you? You're so... Nh..."

Arthur shuddered and shoved at him, letting out a yelp when a very obvious erection rubbed against him. Alfred took a deep breath, almost immediately letting it out again in a sigh along with a throaty moan. He _needed_ this, he really did... And Arthur was just right _there_, if he'd just stop struggling, then the problem would be taken care of in a moment.

"A-Alfred...!" Arthur's hips bucked violently as the American brushed one hand over his groin. "No, don't... T-this isn't... We shouldn't...! For g-god's sake, you s-stupid yank, I..." Alfred kissed his neck, and a keening noise escaped the Brit. "Nh...! H-aah.. Alfred, you're... Please, this isn't... It isn't appropriate..."

Alfred moaned and palmed the older man through the cloth. At least the Englishman wasn't trying to get away anymore. He was protesting, but his body responded very well.

"Mine," the younger man groaned. "Please, Iggy... Arthur, please... Please..."

Their hips ground together again, forcing loud moans over their lips; a smile appeared on Alfred's face when he felt the very obvious proof for Arthur's arousal make itself known. The protests slowly began to die down, little by little being replaced by moans and silent pleading. Their hands were all over each other, stroking, groping, gentle pinching. The young American pressed his lips against the older man's throat, quickly brushing them over the skin, sucking lightly before his teeth joined in and nibbled lightly. His hand trailed down over Arthur's chest and stomach, stopping at his thigh.

"Hey, Arthur," he whispered, his smile turning into a sly smirk. "Is it true...? That _real men_ don't wear anything beneath the kilt...?"

He caught a glimpse of widening emerald eyes before his hand slid under the cloth and along the naked inner thigh. Such warm and soft skin, so smooth… He chuckled quietly to himself when he gently cupped the bare sac.

"Oh my... So it's not just a rumour, then..." The hand trailed a little further up, gently stroking the hard length. "You really don't wear anything beneath this... I think I like it."

Arthur groaned and bucked his hips, seeking some sort of friction. He didn't really want to admit it, but _damn_, he wanted more...! The lad certainly did know what he was doing... Or at least he was good at following instinct. But now that hand stilled, stopped moving completely... Alright, so he knew the basic of teasing. The Brit keened and bucked his hips again, pleading for movement.

"You bloody git," he gasped. "D-don't just stop...! You c-could at least follow t-through...!"

Alfred smirked and continued to kiss his old mentor's neck, but he still refused to move his hand. It was actually rather erotic, to tell the truth, to watch the man move like this, so desperate for friction... In fact, he wouldn't mind watching this a little bit longer, if only he could ignore his own (now slightly aching) problem during that time. And that was getting exceedingly difficult, to say the least. He forced himself to keep his hand still, kissed Arthur's neck and merely continued to watch with half-lidded eyes as the man squirmed. But suddenly, a firm hand trailed over his arousal, and he let out a loud moan.

"Shit," he gasped. "Oh _shit_...! Arthur...!"

Arthur squirmed again, green eyes glaring at the American. There was no way that he was going to let the brat continue teasing him like this. He planted his hands firmly against Alfred's shoulders and pushed, managing to flip their positions; hearing the lad's back slam against the wall was strangely satisfying. He forced their lips together, slipping his tongue into the younger man's mouth almost immediately. Perhaps the American needed a small reminder of that while he might be used to controlling situations with his brute strength, England would not be controlled by a former _colony_. Calloused hands roamed over the muscular chest, pinching the nipples through the fabric of the t-shirt and drawing a loud moan from the young nation.

"Enough of your teasing," Arthur hissed as he with nimble fingers undid the button and tugged impatiently at the zipper on the baggy jeans. "You're forgetting who I am."

Alfred laughed breathlessly and tugged at the older man's shirt.

"A very horny guy in a plaid skirt?" A knee was roughly shoved up against his groin, making him wince slightly; a little harder and he would've been on the floor now. "Okay okay, I'm sorry!"

The jeans fell to the floor, and when the boxers followed, Alfred heard himself gasp loudly as his slightly aching erection was finally freed from the straining fabric. Arthur's hand immediately wrapped around it, stroking him lazily.

"It's a kilt," he said calmly. "And judging from your reaction, I'd say you like it." A slight smirk came to his lips. "And my name, lad. Well?"

He squeezed slightly, drawing a strangled gasp from Alfred.

"A-Arthur...!"

"No, no. That is not my name."

"Ngh... England!"

A deep sigh.

"Silly child, that's not it."

He squeezed once more and nibbled on the younger man's earlobe.

"Ah!" Alfred squirmed and bucked his hips. "B-but I don't-"

"Ah, of course, I never did tell you about that, did I? But I suppose that I could be merciful. You know the other name I used to go by..."

The American ransacked his mind, desperately trying to recall other names; there was really only one that he could remember without that much difficulty...

"Britannia!"

Arthur hummed and smiled, suddenly letting go of the hard length; just as Alfred was about to protest against the lack of touching, the Englishman sank down on his knees, trailing his fingers over the lad's thighs.

"See, that wasn't so difficult," he whispered softly, his breath ghosting over the bare skin. "Just for that, I should reward you... Your memory has always been terrible, so remembering that is an improvement." He smirked and stuck his tongue out teasingly, but kept himself from coming too close. "Do you want something special...? You took the initiative to this, so you must know what you want."

Alfred smiled breathlessly and trailed one hand through the Englishman's hair, pressing lightly to get him closer.

"You're already on your knees," he replied, his voice shaking ever so slightly. "J-just go ahead."

At first, Arthur only laughed softly, and the American almost thought that he was going to get up and leave; but then a tongue trailed over his length and drew a loud moan over his lips. Alfred immediately bucked his hips in a silent plea for more, but Arthur seemed intent on taking it slow. Despite the whines from the younger man, he moved as slow as he could, at a truly torturous speed. But when he had kept this up for a while, Alfred suddenly grabbed his hair and pulled.

"Don't fucking tease me," he growled. "I swear, you keep that up and I'm gonna fuck your mouth!"

Arthur only smirked and shook his head.

"You're much too eager," he said softly. "Haven't you ever heard of patience?"

And with that, he took the erect limb into his mouth. Alfred let his head fall back, a moan escaping unrestrained from his throat; it took every bit of self-control he still had left to keep him from doing what he had threatened to do.

"Oh god," he hissed. "Oh my fucking god, oh shit...!"

Arthur let out a humming sound, the slight vibration drawing yet another moan. He began to bob his head slightly, relaxing his throat and taking in a little more each time. He managed to hold Alfred's hips still, despite the slightly twitching motions that kept occurring. The brat was strong, of course, but in his current state he couldn't quite focus his strength.

"A-ah...! Oh fuck, Arthur...!"

Arthur swirled his tongue around the shaft as he slowly moved back again until he only held the tip in his mouth; he peered up at the younger man, green eyes meeting blue, and then suddenly let go and smirked.

"Oh, I don't know," he said as he slowly got to his feet. "Maybe I should just leave you here, panting like a wanton wench..."

For a moment, Alfred stood without moving, processing what the Englishman had just said. Then he grabbed him and slammed him against the wall, pressing against him and kissing him deeply.

"You're not going anywhere," he panted. "Got it? You're not fucking going anywhere."

Arthur smirked back at him and tilted his head; he could probably get out of this situation fairly quickly, if he wanted to. _If he wanted to_ being the keywords. Because at the moment, he was enjoying it all. The next thing he knew was Alfred's lips and tongue pressing against his nipple, and three fingers were placed against his lips. He didn't need to be told what to do. Quickly, he got the fingers in his mouth and began to suck and lick on them, coating them with saliva. He wanted the brat to hurry up, but of course he couldn't just tell him that; those words had no part in this, not yet. Teeth grazed his nipple lightly, and a breathy moan left him almost as if on command.

"It's enough," Alfred mumbled as he removed his fingers, a small trail of saliva still connecting them to Arthur's lips. "It's... It's enough now..."

He moved to remove the kilt, but Arthur swatted at his hand.

"It stays," the Englishman muttered. "You don't need to remove it, alright?"

The cloth was hoisted up, and as Arthur spread his legs a little bit, Alfred got free access; a mere moment later the first finger gently pressed into the tight opening. Alfred wanted this part to be over with quickly, he just wanted to take the Brit already. But knowing his old mentor's temper, just trying to push in without any preparation would effectively only earn him a severe case of blueballing since Arthur would refuse to let him continue. After a moment's hesitation, he pressed in the second digit, frowning a little bit at the low hiss the older man let out.

"You okay...?"

"I'm fine... It's... It's alright."

As he pressed a light kiss to Arthur's neck, Alfred slowly began to scissor his fingers, stretching the opening as gently as he could. Whenever the older man made a noise that indicated that it hurt or was uncomfortable, he'd stop for a moment, only to have Arthur urging him to go on. The third digit was slowly pressed in, and when Alfred saw how the Brit bit his lip, he carefully began to search for that particular bundle of nerves that would-

"_Aah_!"

And there it was. Arthur pushed back against the fingers, moaning loudly as they hit that spot again. With great care, the American continued scissoring his fingers until a calloused hand swatted at him.

"E-enough," Arthur gasped. "Please... Please, hurry up...!"

As quickly as he dared, Alfred removed his fingers and lifted the slighter man, making sure that he leant lightly against the wall, and made him wrap his legs around his waist.

"'s easier this way," he breathed. "Hope you're ready."

Arthur nodded with a weak smile, feeling how Alfred carefully began to push into him; he gasped loudly at the feeling of being stretched even more and closed his eyes, trying to force himself to relax a little more.

"A-ah, shit...!" Alfred panted loudly and shivered. "Oh god... Y-you're so d-damn... _tight_...!"

It took a big part (if not all) of his self control to stop himself from simply pounding into the slighter man without any further thought. He attempted to remain completely still, but every now and then he felt a twitch run through his body, or more specifically his hips, and he managed to push just a little further. Soon, however, the Brit rolled his hips with a quiet gasp, giving Alfred a breathless smile.

"G-go ahead," he said. "It's fine now."

Immediately, Alfred moved back until he had pulled out almost completely, and slammed back in again, moaning loudly at the feeling. At first, his thrusts were slow and careful, but then Arthur suddenly bit down on his shoulder.

"Don't be such a bloody pussy," he groaned. "Harder, you stupid git!"

With a slight smirk, the American complied, slowly putting more force behind each thrust. The Englishman gasped loudly and moaned wantonly, meeting his hips with every single movement while pleading for more. Alfred pounded into him, pushing him roughly against the wall. He couldn't even remember when he had felt something so amazing last, or when he had heard someone make those same noises. He'd had sex many times before, of course, but he'd never heard someone sound like this; every moan, every keening noise, every plea for more. Suddenly, Arthur made a quick jerking motion, making Alfred press in all the way to the hilt. And at the same time, the American managed to hit the spot he'd been looking for. Arthur let out a loud scream and threw his head back, making the younger man give him a worried look.

"Nh... Arthur, are you alright...?"

For a moment, the older man would not reply. But then, a smile passed over his lips, and he let out a breathless laugh.

"Oh _lord_," he said, still gasping slightly. "D-do that again!"

Alfred hesitated for a brief moment, and then attempted to recreate that short moment, even if he was not all clear on what had happened. The slightest movement, however, seemed to be more than enough as Arthur let out a loud moan and clung to Alfred as if he were the only thing that kept him alive. The American began to thrust wildly again, hitting the prostate dead on each time (at least that was what he assumed, considering the cries of pleasure he managed to draw from the older man). Every kiss they shared was a little too brief for their taste, as they were both panting and gasping for air at this point; this, however, did not stop Alfred from gluing his lips to Arthur's neck at every single chance he got. The pleasure seemed to overwhelm them both, and just as Arthur felt the American's teeth clamp down on his neck, making him cry out yet again, said American moaned loudly and pressed up against him, keeping their bodies as close as he could, as he came. Arthur shuddered slightly as he felt the younger man empty himself, and that feeling combined with the fact that Alfred had managed to hit his prostate with that last thrust was more than enough to send him over the edge. He barely made a sound as he released but he clung almost desperately to the lad, tremors passing through his body. Alfred slowly pulled out, trying to get his breathing under control again and at the same time struggling to keep Arthur up for a little longer. After a moment, the Brit carefully set his feet down again, attempting to stand properly.

"Oh lord," he murmured softly as he leant against the wall. "I... I think I need to rest..."

Alfred laughed breathlessly and pressed a kiss to the older man's forehead.

"Yeah, me too," he grinned. "How about we ditch the last part of the meeting to get cleaned up and "rest"...?"

Arthur chuckled silently and swatted at him. While the suggestion didn't sound that bad, they _were_ here for the meeting, and he would have preferred not to leave.

"We do need to clean up," he sighed. "So let's just do that, and we'll see where it goes from there. Alright? No promises."

Alfred merely grinned, pulled up his jeans and boxers and pushed the closet door open, quickly peeking out to make sure that no one was nearby; words couldn't describe how embarrassing it would be if someone saw them come out of a closet together, even if it would make for very good puns (he did actually make a mental note on teasing Arthur about it later). They snuck out and hurried off, agreeing on that it would be best if they didn't just go to the restroom. Anyone could be in there. So instead, they went to the closest room, which, incidentally, was Alfred's. At first there was a small argument on who would use the bathroom first (Arthur wasn't very keen on both being in there at the same time, especially not when he had made a point of wanting to go back to the meeting), but the coin they flipped in the end apparently favoured Arthur. So the Brit smirked and calmly removed his shirt and kilt, all too aware of the younger man's eyes on him, and sauntered into the bathroom. Alfred continued to stare after him for a moment, but then he smirked slightly and stretched, humming happily to himself. This just might be one of the best days in his life; the only problem would be that he was not allowed to gloat about it. Then again, that wasn't even a problem. Others didn't need to know what Arthur was like during sex. He turned around and eyed the kilt that now rested on a chair; it felt a bit strange to even think about how he had reacted, all because of that piece of cloth. He stared at it for another moment, and suddenly an idea began to form in his head. He _did_ wonder what it was like to wear that thing, and this was the perfect moment to find out, right? So with a slight grin, he tugged off his own clothes, including his boxers, and picked up the kilt. Although it took him a moment to figure out how to do it, he managed to put it on (even despite the fact that his waist was far from as slim as Arthur's). Only a while later, Arthur came out from the bathroom.

"Alfred, I'm done now, you can-..."

He stopped in the middle of the sentence and stared. Alfred stood in front of him with a wide grin, wearing only the kilt, which was apparently a little bit too small for him. His shirt was on the floor, and he showed off his muscular chest and his abs with very obvious pride.

"Looks pretty awesome, right?" The American flashed him a wide grin. "I mean, I wouldn't wear stuff like this in public, but damn, I look hot!"

Without a word, Arthur passed him and locked the door properly. Then, he turned and eyed the younger man with a predatory look in his eye that Alfred recognised from the time when the Brit had ambushed him in his own home and later taken his virginity...

"You," said Arthur slowly, "are absolutely insufferable. But I suppose that I can yield to your suggestion this time."

Alfred took a few unconscious steps backwards, not noticing that he stepped closer to the bed.

"Dude, I didn't say anything," he said slowly. "I just... Sheesh, I just wanted to try it on..."

Arthur smiled in response and stepped closer to him, placing one hand on the young nation's hip.

"Nothing wrong with that," he whispered. "But you'll have to suffer the consequences for looking so bloody good."

Before Alfred could really work out what was about to happen, he was on his back in the bed with Arthur over him, their lips firmly pressed against each other. Arthur's knee grinded against his groin, making him shiver and buck his hips.

"D-damn," he hissed when the Brit moved to kiss his neck instead. "Again, Arthur? Sheesh, if I had known that you were _this_ easy to get horny..."

Teeth scraped against his skin, and he let out a gasp.

"There's a small difference this time," Arthur said, smirking slightly. "And that difference is that I am going to fuck you into the mattress until you can't move."

Alfred laughed and tugged him back for another kiss.

"I thought we had to be at the meeting."

The Englishman frowned slightly in response and tugged insistently on the kilt, the loose material quickly sliding off.

"I don't care right now", he hissed. "Understood?"

Alfred shuddered slightly and bucked his hips again; there was no way that he would pass up on this chance, especially not when he didn't have to go back to the meeting. He had the chance to spend some wonderful quality time with Arthur for the second time that day. He'd have to be an idiot to refuse that, especially when the Brit was the one to take the initiative for once.

* * *

Alfred hummed happily to himself as he wandered up to the door of Arthur's house; of course he knew what the older nation thought about his surprise visits, but it wasn't like he cared. According to the American, it showed that one had a rather healthy lifestyle if a few surprise visits occurred with regular intervals. Or something like that. He never really managed to put it together into a sentence that made sense. Besides, it was hardly healthy if Russia showed up... So maybe it wasn't about a healthy lifestyle at all. Ah well, like it mattered. The point was, whether Arthur liked it or not, Alfred was going to intrude for a while, because it had been almost a month since the last conference, and he wanted to see his lover. So there.

"Arthur!" He opened the door, not caring about knocking. "I'm here!"

Then, he stopped short in his tracks and stared. There in front of him stood Arthur, arms crossed over his chest, wearing only that kilt. He smiled calmly at the American and tilted his head.

"You're lucky that one of my siblings saw you and decided to warn me," he said with a chuckle. "I wouldn't want to spill tea all over the carpet again. Please Alfred, couldn't you try to learn some manners?"

Alfred slowly took a few steps inside, closing the door behind him. Then he calmly walked over to the older man, grabbed him and simply flung him over his shoulder.

"Sorry, Artie," he said happily as he moved up the stairs to the bedroom. "But we're going to have a few private hours right now, and I refuse to wait until later."

Arthur only laughed and swatted at him.

"Don't call me Artie," he said. "I don't protest against some quality time, but if you call me that again I'm going to knock you unconscious and walk away."

As soon as they were in the bedroom, Alfred gingerly put Arthur down on the bed before he quickly took off his precious bomber jacket and kicked off his shoes.

"Seriously," he said with a grin. "Did you have to wear that?"

Arthur only laid down on his back with an impish grin and placed his hands under his head.

"Perhaps I did," he replied. "Maybe I just felt the desperate need to wear it."

A moment later, Alfred was over him, pressing eager kisses to his neck. The reason didn't really matter, after all. What mattered was that Arthur had willingly put the kilt on, just because Alfred was on his way, and that fact alone made the American feel like one of the luckiest nations to ever exist.

"You need to wear it more often," he purred. "You look absolutely gorgeous."

Arthur chuckled and swatted at him.

"What if I don't want to," he replied teasingly. "What are you going to do about that, hm?"

The younger nation smirked and grinded his knee against the older man's groin, letting out yet another purr when Arthur moaned.

"Then I'll just have to make you wear it. Because damn, you look fucking hot."

The Brit stared up at the American, who gave him a teasing lopsided smile. In response, Arthur trailed his hand over the man's chest and stomach, only to firmly press the palm of his hand against his crotch. The resulting moan was quickly swallowed with a deep kiss.

"I'm going to keep it," Arthur said softly when they broke the kiss. "I'll keep it, but I'll only wear it if you have done something to earn that."

Alfred took a moment to process that sentence, and then he promptly pressed his body against the Brit's and ground their hips against each other.

"It's a deal," he chuckled. "I'll do what I can to earn it~!"

* * *

**Slightly rushes end, I know... Buuut... Yeah. ^^' Reviews are love! :3**


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